The Aubergine Mantle
by CloudheartTV
Summary: A Volume 4-7 Spin-off following an original team of detectives and huntsmen in Atlas and Mantle, as they uncover political agendas and experimental labs full of secrets that could shake their nation, and uncover the mysteries of their pasts. Functions as a stand-alone plot from events of team RWBY, and will explore some of the failed plots Salem has attempted before RWBY's plot.
1. Prologue

The display where the suspects' faces lay were connected via red digital strings, tinted by the predominantly blue light of the screens. The layout was immaculate in its order and detail. To be precise, everything around the desk was in order. The father-daughter photo, a singular personal exception among an otherwise professional atmosphere, was tilted at a precise 45 degree angle in the left corner. The paper separator beside it was empty in its intake section, and full of an impressive amount of completed paperwork in its outgoing section. Awards of recognition from academies and organizations dotted the walls to the left and right of the desk. It was a prime example of the spartan cleanliness and clinical regiment its resident was known for, save for two currently outstanding exceptions.

First was the telephone, pulled from it's comfortable position at the far right end of the desk, wires following it and now on full display, no longer neatly hidden. Second was the sound emanating from under the desk, a constant tapping of the regulation boots on the floor from the detective who sat there, waiting to receive a call.

She was a thin, sturdy young woman, the white and grey of her uniform only occasionally accented by the police blue, mirrored by the blue of the vest that sat on the back of her chair. She wore it when off duty, no outfit complete to her without it. The vest was decorated minimally with the symbols and personal touches that had become commonplace after the war.

The anxious waiting was decidedly out of character for the young woman. It was a display of weakness she was certainly not proud of, and entirely capable of controlling.

But the severity of the case, and what it marked for her career caused her trepidation. She had completed plenty of cases; many were as a team, but even more alone. Yet none of her successful arrests had touched anyone of notoriety. She hadn't made an impact on anyone that the citizens felt were above the law. She hadn't proved the importance of -

"If you keep your face tense like that it's going to get stuck," chuckled a younger blonde haired man, leaning onto her desk from the side.

Lie. An obvious and and unfunny one.

"What do you want, Capone?"

"A smile once in a while wouldn't hurt -" Truth, "and you know I've said call me Tobi. I swear you're gonna blow a fuse if you don't learn to -"

They were interrupted by a burst of three sharp tones. The phone springing to life.

"Can you please, Tobi? This is important," her voice had shifted to a tone of soft sincerity that was rare for her.

"Uh - yeah," he stuttered, "But if it's what I think it is you owe us your magnanimous presence at the bar. You could use a bit of fun."

Lie. But it was a nice one. They both knew she wasn't going to be there, and didn't have to be. The intent was kind enough, but she knew herself too well.

She ignored him and picked up the phone. He gave a nod and left, first from her desk and eventually the office.

"Hello? Yes, this is Detective Gallant..," her voice trailed off into a series of affirmations, short questions, and thanks. In total the call lasted approximately five minutes, but it was enough for her to answer all her questions.

She stood with her usual decorum, and left promptly, somehow managing to restrain a hurried jog to her superior's office.

With the monitor off, one would scarcely know anyone had just been inside the office, save for a spinning chair and a single phone, sitting proudly in the center of the desk.


	2. 1 - Ask No Questions, Hear No Lies

"You do understand that his conviction is only going to paint an even bigger target on your back, right? You've already put several men in Trapper's gang under, and no matter how much we try to keep them separate, he's in there with them now. And he still has connections."

"I understood the risks then, sir, and besides, it's a bit too late to change anything. Not that I would. I don't regret what I did."

The older gentleman at the large, mahogany desk sighed, accepting the truth of what she had to say,

"There were more subtle ways to arrive here, you know, but I don't suppose complaining will help at all, and you got a difficult job done. Congratulations, Gallant."

"Thank you Chief, but I didn't just stop in for a pat on the back -," again, for the second time the detective had been interrupted, this time by the -plink- as the Police Chief sat his coffee mug back down.

"No? You know, Detective, praise is a rare gift, and we don't often get it in our line of work, so -"

"Sir. Please," she cut in, "I'm grateful. I'd just like to get another assignment so I can -"

"Excuse me?," he coughed, as he again thudded against the large desk, this time with his knee, "Another assignment? We're going to be clearing out nests of smugglers, weapons, drugs, and ammo for the next four months from this case and what, you're bored? You don't need another case, detective, we'll have plenty of clean-up to do from this case. Honestly, what you need is to stop for a minute."

"I didn't mean to overstep my bounds, sir. I'll go back to my files and see what I can pull up," she pleaded, apologetically, as she spun to leave.

"Stop. Sit down." the words were uttered with plenty of authority without somehow being aggressive. She conceded, her lips pursed as she sat down, fully expecting a dressing down from her C.O."

"It is one of my many jobs to keep an eye on the officers in my precinct, Gallant," True, she thought to herself, but why was he bringing this up, hadn't she just handed him one of the worst contraband kingpins that had settled into Mantle?,

"- which is why I regretfully have to ask again, do I need to send you down to Psych-Eval for a screening?"

A look of betrayal washed over her, reaching her face before she could regain composure just as quickly, "Sir, I don't - I don't understand? I've been performing excellently. In the last year I've closed more than half the cases I've been assigned"

"I don't need you to cite your statistics to me, Detective. You're the second best investigator this precinct has ever seen -" She heard it in his voice, second best, and it was true, and it bothered her that he said it so casually,

"- and I don't need perfect people on my force. Everyone is pushing themselves with something, better pay, a little revenge, simply hating the fucker on the other end of the docket...but I need my people to have perspective," he gestured to his right, out into the bullpen.

There had already been a skeleton crew since the military had started to close off the borders, but at this hour there were maybe 8 other people in what was, modestly estimating, a 40-man room.

"Where do you think the rest of your squad is, right now, Detective?"

"I don't know, sir - sleeping?," she wasn't stupid, and she understood an object lesson in progress, but it felt undeserved to her.

"Try again, and lose the tone," it was clear he wanted her to exercise her abilities. And so she took a minute, as he placidly stared across his desk, while she put together a full picture. She focused on the six or so desks around hers.

"Well, Cortéz and Braum just came off of 17 hour shifts, so they really are sleeping," she checked, and received a nod that this was indeed along the lines of what the Chief was expecting from her reply,

"Whiteside is still on suspension for another week for the incident at the mines," the Chief grimaced, but nodded for her to continue.

"Mason mentioned something about finishing his reports at home and seeing his family, Which just leaves Capon and the other two, who are at that bar on Sixth Street."

To which the Chief smiled, "Oh, and how would you know that? I've never seen you there."

"They talk about it enough. If I have to hear another stupid argument over which sandwich pairs best with which beer it'll be -,"

"It wouldn't happen to be because Tobi asked you join them?," the Chief asked, attempting to slice through her sarcasm. The question hung in the air for a minute before she tried to slice back with discomforted honesty.

"I don't fit there, sir. Detective Capon is nice, but I would rather be -,"

"You'd rather be here buried in work, right?," the Chief finished. And strangely enough he was smiling.

"Yes." It was all she could muster. She had run into a conversation like this twice, once before with the Chief, and one exasperatingly longer conversation with the department's psychologist, Julie. She wasn't looking forward to an even longer night of the same.

"I'm not going to repeat anything that I know Julie has already told you, Gal. Your off hours are your own, and while I can tell you to leave if you end up racking too many hours in here, I can't tell you to stop at home," he paused for a breath, just to match gazes. He wanted her to hear what came next, "But I have seen men and women waste away in here. I have seen good men unravel piecing their cases together, I have seen officers who have had to take just one too many bodies home in a bag, and I have seen good officers work themselves till they didn't believe in good anymore. And you know what? You look like them. Just before. You look like the people I've seen who didn't hear everyone 'round them say they could stop, and just breathe, you know? You don't need to go to a bar, Gallant, 'cause hell I've seen that do a few good ones in too, but you do need to take time. I don't know what you're trying to bury under the paperwork, and - for sure - there will always be more of it, but you will not always be in the place to take it,"

He stopped there, because now he wanted her to know it was True.

"I...I understand, Chief," she exhaled deeply, and the tension in her form left as her shoulders loosened. She dropped the military precision, if for a second.

"That's all I can really ask for."

She smiled at him, looked down and thought back through the conversation for a second.

"If you don't mind me asking, Chief Wulff, the best detective this precinct has seen is you right?"

He laughed while shaking his head, "Oh, you caught that? No, no-no," he pointed casually out towards the kitchen, "Grab a cup of coffee, I'll tell you about him. Honestly I'm surprised you haven't heard about any of it yet. He's only been gone a few years now."


	3. 2 - All in a Day's Work

The fog rolled up and around the man's legs as he stepped past the flickering street radiator. It seemed to mix like tides crashing together at his feet, down from the tail of his navy-blue coat and up from the streets. Being so far north, Mantle had to keep these industrial heaters on constantly or the town would be uninhabitable, and with the war efforts redoubled there was little time for maintenance. Despite the cold, and the fabric's beautiful metallic sheen, he did not wear the coat to stay warm. The material was too lush and thin to be of any use, and the sable hair atop his head and hanging from his upper lip seemed to do a much better job anyways.

Where he walked it almost seemed as if the fog doubled up and spread out, his body the eye of a hurried miniature hurricane. His lithe figure cut through the streets quickly, with his personal fog storm following him through the city. He'd spent his life up and down Mantle's alleyways, another winter night among the bricks and concrete gave him no cause for hesitation. Besides, he had finally arrived where he was headed, a bar, aptly named '_Cures What Ales You'_. He'd always hated the name but the owner was plenty proud of it. As he stepped up from the curb into the doorway, the faintest of glows from within the coat faded, and the fog dissipated. If the coat had even had a glow before, it was gone now, the change imperceptible to the untrained eye.

He stepped in. A small bell just above the doorway rattled as he stepped through, and with it came the curious glances of the barkeep and a few folks scattered about at their tables. The men facing the bar didn't seem to notice. Before he could finish shaking the snow off in the doorway, he heard an older, grey-haired fellow's voice,

"Please, not tonight Barry! It's almost closing time and it's been so calm this week! Please, just grab a drink and sit!," the plump, rosy-cheeked man was now halfway round to the other side of the bar, attempting to intercept his patron.

"You know I don't drink, Murphy, I'll be quick, I promise," Barry swore, looking carefully from his right to his left, scanning the faces in the bar.

"You always say that! You said that the last three times, Bear! I can't afford another set of chairs!," Murphy had closed distance, and now reached for Barry's arm.

'_There you are.'_

No quicker than Murphy had started, Barry found his target and stepped out of his grasp, "I never start it, you know, Murphy," the shadow of a smile crept in on Barry's face, no matter the fact that only Sybil at the taps could see it, not Murphy, who was hurriedly folllowing behind.

"That doesn't help my wallet Barry," he winced, knowing he could try to throw the man out, but he'd just come in again through the back, or wait 'til these men left, and then it'd be his windows, instead.

Barry heard, he was more focused on the man whose shoulder he was tapping, but he heard and chuckled to himself.

"Hey, mind if I ask you a few questions?," before Barry could even begin a dialogue, the man turned, recognized the lithe figure standing beside him, and tripped backwards over his stool and onto the floor, all while trying to bolt for the door. Barry reached down to clasp the man's hand and start over, but was stopped by the vice grip of a large and muscular hand on his shoulder. One duck, one missed punch, one roll over his hips, and the brute who'd gone for a sucker punch had slammed down hard next to the first on the floor.

"Listen guys, I just want to ask a few questions and it's nothing-" he sensed a sharp twitch shoot across his face, heard the click of a gun leave its holster, and he turned from the men on the ground to the last man at the bar. Barry held his hands in the air as a gesture of good faith. The man now in front of him held a pistol, just a foot or so from his chest.

"You asshole. We _just_ got off of some bum charges with probation, no more than a _week_ ago. Whatever you think you got, just let it go Müller. We're just having a drink." He punctuated the last word with another _-click-_, locking the hammer in place.

"Really, man?," Barry's tone was more exasperated than worried or angry. He jostled a bit, his hands still in the air, as if to say '_I'm not holding anything'_. Murphy's bar really didn't deserve any more damage, and Barry was sincere when he'd promised just seconds ago.

"Oh shut up," the man clapped back. He was the tallest of the three, smaller than the brute but obviously the most experienced, it showed in the calluses on his knuckles and the creases near his eyes. He stepped back from Barry to gain some more distance as he pointed the gun more forcefully, and looked away to the floor at his friends,

"get off of your asses, damn it! Why is this shit always happening to me? Can't you hold your own for five seconds?,"

"Sorry about this," was all he heard the private eye mutter before he could lock gazes with him again, a hock of spit splashed into his eyes and blinded him for a split second.

Before a grossed out 'fuck you' could be managed, a quick _-pop-, -click-, and -clack-_ were heard. The distance was closed, the gun was disassembled and dropped, and Barry's hand was now firmly planted on the man's face. The _-thud-thud- _that came next of the man's head hitting the bar, and then his body hitting the ground could be heard well into the back rooms.

"_Like_ _I was saying_," Barry retorted, turning back to the first man, "I just want to ask a few questions, I'm not here for any of you," the smile was gone, but he still managed one quick smirk as he reached down and then handed the gun's guts to Sybil, who was still in shock. She placed them behind the bar, keeping her eyes on the third man who was crumpled on the floor the entire time.

The first man was helped up by Murphy, the second was out cold, as he had no aura to keep the blow from taking full effect. The third was still reeling, with the beginnings of a bruise starting over his eye.

With a hand soothing the back of his head, the first asked, "seriously? Why spook us like that, bro?"

"I tapped you on the shoulder, Root, I wasn't knifing you. All I wanna know is about the job you did on the east port. You can't get tried twice for it, so it won't hurt to talk. Some kids got tied up with your boss, and no one's seen or heard from them in a week," Barry sighed, he really needed a smoke.

Root Rotsiel, the rat faunus standing in front of Barry, didn't hesitate, simply launching right into the thick of it, apparently unfazed by his friends injuries, "Oh, yeah? No shit? Well it was over two years ago, Barry, but yeah I'll tell ya what I can remember, we got screwed on that job anyways," Barry sighed a little easier and thought to himself, '_These guys have obviously gotten into more shit since then, but I don't have the time. A few minutes of talk, I step out for a smoke, and I'm on with the case, maybe find them before morning. I even managed to avoid any damage or broken bones...huh.'_

"Well you know the fish-packing plant just by the docks right?," He didn't wait for Barry's reply, but it didn't matter, since Barry was distracted when his worm-tail shot out, vibrating happily behind him as he kept going, "I didn't mind the smell, but the Boss did. He said it worked for keeping folks from looking too hard for too long, though. There's some sort of switches hidden behind a hatch on the bottom of the rollers by the back, it's a code, right? Anyways, it goes like this -"

And Barry didn't get a chance to know what it goes like, because before Root could finish, Ash, the armed man who had been slammed into the bar, had cleared up enough to blindside Barry with a tackle clear across the room.

The _-one, two, thud- _of Barry getting punched in the mouth _over and over again_ made his mind up pretty quickly about any peaceful resolution, and he wrestled to place his knees under Ash while Ash kept wailing. A few moments later and Ash was kicked up, over and flying behind Barry, breaking the table back by the door.

"Damnit Barry..," Murphy frowned, trying to figure out where he could find another solid table like that in town.

"I will _pay for it_, Murphy! Now give me a second!," But Barry didn't get a second. Ash was out cold too now, aura depleted. But a new hand from behind Barry was now firmly planted in the roots of Barry's scalp, and a second hand hit him while the first held his face down.

'_More of them? Where...no - Please..no. I do NOT have time for this'_

Barry, more than happy to not get into a fight tonight, was now frustrated. He blindly swung a right hook, felt for and lifted what felt like a small club from the man's belt, and doubled back with it in his left. He heard the man hit the ground as another tackled him to the floor. A knee between this new fellows own knees, a headbutt just as quick, and Barry got a second to stumble halfway up onto his own stumps...to see two Atlesian officers now on the floor, and a third radioing in fifteen feet across the room towards the back.

You see, as Barry slammed Ash into the bar a minute earlier, a few officers drinking in the back room decided enough was enough and stood up to check things out.

"11-99, Bar on Sixth Street! Detective Capon off-duty, we've got a 243b, two officers down, Send Backup!"

"Wait- wait! You don't understand!" Barry threw the gun and blade hidden inside his coat to the ground, desperate to resolve the situation before anything more serious happened. Two sounds were then heard in the bar in rapid succession, as heads turned to the front door that was right behind Barry: one familiar _-pop-_ and a more violent _-rattle- _of the doorbell, as a figure stepped through and the flat of a battering ram slammed through squarely into the side of Barry's face, cutting through the last of Barry's aura and ending his evening prematurely.

The last sound heard that night was the plastic _-clink- _as the radio transceiver fell from Barry's unconscious hands onto the ground.


	4. 3 - Like My Head's in a Vice

He started hearing before anything else. Well, maybe feeling like shit, but the hearing was more useful. His head was pounding, and the nicotine headache wasn't helping. He felt around the room with his hands, searching the floor he found himself lying on. It was cold, hard, and apparently there were other people there, because as his hand went further out he felt the hair on another man's arm.

"Get your fuckin' 'ands offa him!," came a familiar and very unwelcome voice a few feet away, just before Barry felt a shoe slam into his sides. His hand shot to his side as he rolled away onto his sides.

_-BAM-_, _-BAM-_, _-BAM-_

It was another unwelcome, but more visceral sound. The battering ram that had nearly broken his jaw. His body shook as he felt the kinetic memory each time it slammed into the ground. Into the freshly cleared silence, from where the tool was hitting the ground, rang out a woman's voice,

"**Knock - **_**IT **_**\- **_**OFF**_**! Is he up**?!," for some awful, sinking reason, Barry knew without opening his eyes she was asking about him. Ash, the only one who would have been awake and bold enough to open his mouth, had suddenly learned fear, and was frozen in place, staring. Unfortunately, this was not the time or place, and Barry heard the bars ring as she reached through and rang Ash on the steel, "_**I asked you a QUESTION, prisoner**__! Is he up?"_

It boiled what blood Barry was awake enough to muster. The men weren't prisoners, not yet. Under arrest, maybe, but to her there was no difference. He'd had his fill of people like her, and did his best to sit up, hoping to save Ash from a concussion. When she finally saw him stir she let go and moved closer to where he sat,"

"**Good.** You are awake. I hope you're clear and sober, because we're about to have a conversation."

The next few minutes Barry was familiar with. Not in ways he'd like to share with many folks, but getting dragged to his feet, marched down a stone hallway, thrown into a chair opposite a large mirror, and an angry officer burning his still sore retinas with some bright-ass lights were all sickly reminiscent of too many parts of Barry's life. He hoped to put his head together for a few seconds as she huffed-and-puffed down at him across the table, but however late it was this woman had obviously had either plenty of coffee, or plenty of sleep,

"Well? Care to tell me what happened, or would you like a fuckin' intermission?," the swear didn't suit her, it rolled off her tongue wrong. Her voice, her demeanor, it was all too controlled for that to fit neatly. She obviously wanted to seem bigger than she was, but he already felt a presence from her that this attempt now diminished,

"Well, I wouldn't mind a cigarette. I have a pack in my coat if you -"

But he wasn't able to finish, before he could quip himself a bit of fun out of trouble he saw absolutely no quick way out of, she had her hand over his mouth. Barry tried to console himself that if he hadn't already fought five men off and been sucker punched _twice_, she'd have missed, but no, her grip was strong, a by-product of toting the monster he now saw behind her in the corner.

A hefty, regulation black-and-white, battering ram. A quick glance at the barrel and switches across its showed it also sported a _fucking rocket launcher_ _mode_. The only non regulation features were a symbol he _almost_ recognized and caution paint on the barrel in a brilliant gold.

"Yuh-comensathin-fuh-sumfin," was all could mumble through her hand before she finally replied, ignoring him,

"No more bullshit. Straight. Quick. Answers. And we're done," Barry had an attitude, but years of experience had taught him when to relent. He needed to leave, he needed to get back to his case, and he could deal with a trial later. Besides, he knew Atlesians like her. She wasn't above using _that _here on _him_. His eyes narrowed and he nodded, and she tossed his face away to bobble freely.

"Did you start that fight tonight?," It was quick. It was clinical, but it was too innocent, she was expecting results by doing the minimum. '_What is this, kiddy-cop time? She expect to just suss it out like that?'_

"Fights happen for a lot of reasons, I didn't mean for anything to happen but -"

She cut him off again, another of a long series of interruptions in the night, "I said '_straight answers'_. Give me a _yes_, _no_, or something succinct." he snorted, and for a second she _smirked_…, "Did you start that fight tonight?"

What followed was cooperation and cadence.

"No. I was there to work a case."

"Why did the men attack you?"

"They thought I was there for them."

"Were you?"

"No. They had information relevant to the case."

"How did the other officers get involved?"

"We both misunderstood. One of them attacked me before I could see who was there."

"When did you know they were officers?"

"By the time two of them were already on the ground."

"And the radio?"

"What?," it broke the rhythm, but she quickly continued,

"The police radio, did you take it?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"I was trying to de-escalate. I was hoping I could speak to him - "

"Who?"

"The third officer, the one I never touched. I was hoping I could explain things got out of hand."

She stopped for a second. It seemed like she was doing some simple math, and just needed a moment, before she finally returned to the interrogation,

"Just for accuracy's sake. You are Barry Müller, correct? Of _Spinner_ _Investigations_?"

He wasn't expecting her to mention his office, or to say the name without the usual tone of disgust,

"...Yes."

"You do understand you caused some damage to the proprietors property?"

The questions were so disjointed, so short, and she didn't press for anything on any of them. It was beginning to confuse him, more than anything,

"Uh..yes."

"He claimed you agreed to pay for the damages in full?"

"I did, yes."

"Mr. Müller, you were sober tonight, correct? This confession is from a clear head?"

"I...I don't drink. So, yes, I was sober. My head's not busted up enough to be misremembering anything."

"Then, Mr. Müller, are you aware of any crimes you may have committed tonight?"

"A few? They could both be misconstrued as battery, but I was genuinely defending myself against both sets of men."

"That will be all, for now, Mr. Müller," and as quick as she fired off the questions, she stood up straight, grabbed her weapon, and headed for the door. Still cuffed to the table, Barry could not manage more than cursory glances, but it was enough to notice the name tag he was too groggy and angry to notice earlier: _Detective G. Gallant_.

She closed the door and left Barry to mull over the elements of his case and what Root had said earlier in silence. But not before he heard the door unclick again, for a moment, and saw his brand of cigarettes and his emblazoned lighter land onto the table from behind his head.


End file.
